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The Manhunt/Chapter 9
It was such a minor worry, but a misplaced lighter was always infuriating for Airmid Valerian. Typically, they would tuck their lighters in the inner breast of their waistcoats, or in the back pockets of their trousers. Now, both those were tauntingly empty. Neither had the lighter been present in the pockets of their bags, or erroneously stashed under a drawer or the bed. It was not a significant lighter. Their favourite lighter was on a shelf, back in their dorm at Ever After High. This had simply been a dollar-store lighter, no sentimentality attached. Neither did Airmid need to use the lighter at this particular point in time. It was simply comforting to know that a source of potential light was present at all times. The capacity to access fire within one’s immediate reach was a certainty that Airmid Valerian much appreciated. Perhaps the light got lost amongst Bastion’s stuff. Bastion himself was out at that particular moment – his turn to pick up the newspaper. Surely he wouldn’t mind if Airmid shifted through, so they gave themself permission. They rummaged through piles of neatly ironed shirts and legal paper, before noticing a plastic bottle. A pack of pills. Their heart stopped. Their hands shook. They froze. Vitamins, said the bottle, and Airmid Valerian could breathe again. All those self-deprecating jokes Bastion made, those off-handed comments about not having enough time to eat food, those silently expressed reckless desires – they flooded their mind. The physician grimaced. The signs, the red flags, churned in their stomach. It was a small fear. But it was a very real one, and had to be quelled. ---- When Bastion returned, there was the faint smell of burning in the room. “Airmid, why is everything set up like a lab?” Through their transparent googles, Airmid raised an eyebrow in defeat and guilt. “I, er– panicked! Nothing as calming as some che-myth-sy experiments, is there?” They gave a nervous laugh. “Why are my vitamins on the table?” “I was bored! Obviously, I decided that investigating their chemical contents was a worthwhile use of time." “Even when you could have simply read the bottle’s label?” Airmid Valerian crossed their arms defensively and turned away from Bas. “Science!” they declared, stamping a foot for emphasis. “Science?” “Science!” they reiterated. Airmid unplugged the hot plate from the wall, and leaned back in what they hoped was a nonchalant fashion. “As previously stated, I was bored. And I decided that checking the composition of the bottles was an utterly worthwhile activity to absorb my time." “… as opposed to anything else.” “Indeed. As opposed to anything else.” Bastion Fanfarinet sighed and shook his head. It had been slightly raining that day, and droplets of water were still present in his hair. They fell onto the hot plate’s surface, and sizzled. “You and your fake ties and sudden scientific experiments,” he said. “How does your roommate deal with you?” “With enough indifference.” “Are spontaneous science experiments a constant with you?” he said. But Airmid couldn’t stand that querying tone in his voice, couldn’t stand keeping up this charade and their concern. Their lower lip quivered, and they nearly broke down in tears. “Is it bad– am I allowed to be worried?” they said, flailing a little. “I saw bottles, my brain didn’t comprehend the labels quickly enough, and I panicked. My Public Health seminars talked about this type of thing in teenagers, you know? This is a widespread problem!" “It’s my problem. Not yours." “As your doctor–“ “You,” his voice was decisive, “are not my doctor." “As a doctor, I’m meant to solve these problems!” Bas breathed in deeply, counted to five in his head, then spoke. “Airmid. You can’t run around like a mindless hero towards every injustice you see." “I– I–" “Besides, whatever you’re thinking, it's accounted for,” Bastion waved the pocket diary out from his pocket. “In the five-year plan.” “A five-year plan,” Airmid’s eyes darted nervously, and they tilted their head in a questioning, calculating manner. "What about time extended outside those five years?" “You must realise, I won’t be around to find out.” The silence that followed was stiff and awkward. Airmid Valerian did not know how to respond. They were never taught what to do in situations like these, and the situation was too pressuring for their mind to come up with anything sensible. Instead, they nervously shuffled backwards. Bastion Fanfarinet coughed. "I'm sorry," he said. "No, you don't need to be," Airmid said. "I- I should be apologising. I shouldn't have interfered with anything. Besides, don't some people joke to cope?" "I would prefer for the topic to move on." "Of course! Of course! I just-" "Please don't attempt to apologise. You'll only make this more awkward for both of us." Bowing their head, Airmid turned away. The awkwardness of their exchange was rivaled by the awkwardness of this silence. “You know,” Airmid broke the silence. “Patient confidentiality is a thing with us, right? You don’t have to keep secrets from me, because you can relay them to your favourite doctor in confidence." He wanted to roll his eyes – Bastion already previously stated that Airmid was not their doctor. “It’s amusing that you think you’re my favourite." “If you doubt me, I can tell you one of my own secrets in confidence.” Bastion nodded solemnly. “Let’s hear it.” And so, Airmid Valerian coughed and straightened up. With the utmost dignity and confidence, they spoke more loudly than necessary. “I wear fake ties.” That confession hit Bastion like a brick dropped from the apex of a tower. “What?" Airmid pulled the knot of their tie out, revealing that it was held together by a stringy piece of elastic. If the previous confession had been a singular brick, then this demonstration was two bricks. “Valerian, you utter and complete fraud,” “Freud?” “No, fraud. As in deceit.” “Ah, I almost thought you were genuinely insulting me then.” “I used to admire how you did ties.” The knots had seemed so perfect and neat. Had he had less dignity, Bastion would have asked how to tie his the same way. “But now, knowing the truth, I don’t know whether I can respect that anymore." There was a brief awkward silence. “That is a true shame." Bastion Fanfarinet shook his head. Dear D’Aulnoy, first that vitamin incident and now one of the cleverest people he knew confessing to such a crime? It was unspeakable. And really messing with his head. Bastion Fanfarinet knew he should get some food. If he actually ate food today, then he wouldn’t have been so pissy over such a small and superficial thing. “Okay, okay, Airmid, tell me this. What other non-respectable trait do you have that will cause me to lose any semblance of respect I have for you?" “Let’s see,” said the physician, and for two seconds, they were quiet. “I pour the milk in before my cereal." And then, that was three figurative bricks. Category:The Manhunt (Zee Fic) Category:Subpages